The Psychic
by Momonster
Summary: In the middle of a routine hunt, Dean Winchester meets someone who will change his future. But for the better? Or worse?


The Psychic

By Momonster

**Fandom:** Supernatural pre-S1  
**Pairings:** no permanent pairings at this point  
**Warnings:** Warnings: Sadisim of my flavor / Confusion. This will confuse you. But in a good way. / Lemon, mild flavored  
**Rating:** M  
**Summary:** In the middle of a routine hunt, Dean Winchester meets someone who will change his future. But for the better? Or worse?

* * *

"Hello, Dean Winchester."

Dean jerked towards the voice and saw nothing but darkness with a single white figure before him, instinctively pressing his finger on the trigger; only to watch in awe as the figure flicked something in their hand, knocking the 12 gauge bullet out of course. "That's not very nice." A snap had the lights turned on, and Dean threw a hand up, shielding his eyes from light.

The first thing he could see when the spots vanished was a slender long leg moving as the figure crossed their legs, all the silky pale skin of the person's outer thigh visible until Dean could almost see a hip bone.

_'…Holy shit'_

The second thing he saw was the creamy skin of one shoulder where rich dark red cloth had slid from the woman's skin. "Uh, um, hi?"

"Cat got your tongue?" she asked, amused, and the twenty-three year old swallowed, bringing his gun back up.

The woman merely tilted her head, a spill of black curly hair falling over that bare shoulder as she brought a long slender cigarette holder to her lips. "You know that gun doesn't seem to work very well."

"I'm sure if I try a bit harder it'll work just fine." Dean retorted, a quick movement so ingrained it was second nature to the hunter had his gun reloaded, and the woman laughed softly.

She eyed him for a few moments before turning away, letting Dean see the long line of throat and shoulder. "What you're looking for isn't here, hunter." she stated calmly, flicking that spill of hair over her shoulder.

Dean's eyes latched onto the bare skin, and he swallowed."Yea? Well how about I make sure?"

The woman merely placed her cigarette holder to her lips, sucking in a breath of smoke. "Don't move if you don't wanna get shot." Dean warned, only to jerk back as the woman breathed out, a cloud of white smoke flooding the air. _"The fuck?"_

"Calm down Dean." the words were breathed into his ear, and Dean spun to the side, shooting once. "_You_ came to visit me, be a good guest." Dean spun the other direction, but didn't bother shooting, eyes darting all around him.

"More willing to listen now, Dean Winchester?"

"I'm not quite sure." Dean answered. "Why don't you stop the magic tricks and talk to me face to face then we can find out?"

The woman laughed, then right before his eyes the smog began to swirl as the woman appeared before him once again, a slender hand raised. The smoke spun around her, funneling into her open palm until it had vanished, leaving nothing but a small ball in her hand.

Then she shifted just so, and the robe fell farther open.

Dean jerked back. "I don't see any breasts." he breathed, and a black eyebrow rose.

"Why would you?" she-_he_ answered, settling back into...his...seat, lifting that _leg_ again.

Dean eyed it, licking his lips. "You _are_ a woman…right?"

"Wrong." He answered, amused, lifting his left hand to show more of his chest before pushing the robe back onto his shoulder "This flesh is all male."

Dean was blinking rapidly, staring. "This can't be happening."

The man's sultry smile widened. "What? You're so straight you can't get it up for a man?"

Dean twitched violently, and then pulled the shotgun back up. "Why should I believe you aren't the one killing those people?"

"Because I have no need, desire, nor reason to kill anyone. In fact...I haven't left this house in your lifetime, Dean Winchester. I have killed no one."

"You still haven't answered my question."

The man sighed. "Dean Winchester, I am called Christopher Jameson." Dean narrowed his eyes. "And I am no monster out for human blood or flesh I assure you. I am a psychic."

The man stood then, cigarette holder held at his side, walking closer to the frozen man.

"What do you want to test me with? Iron? Silver? Holy water?"

Right then Jameson pulled a dagger free from somewhere – Dean didn't really want to think were – and pressed it to his arm. Red blood rain free. Dean looked at the man with wide eyes, and then blinked, doubling back to watch as Jameson caught some of the blood, bringing the blade up to his mouth.

A flash of warmth shot through his navel, and Dean shifted, tightening his grip on the shot gun. He _really_ didn't want to admit – to anyone, let alone himself – that short lick of arousal was actually from the image of the thick blood slowly being swept away from the quick flicks of that pink tongue.

"Damnit." Dean breathed slowly, but finally lowered the shotgun and uncocked it, eyeing the man. "Well then _Mr. Psychic_. Prove it by helping me finish this hunt."

"I can help you, yes. But I'll need something to get the juices flowing." Jameson told him teasingly.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "And what does _that_ mean?"

Green eyes – pure eye popping shocker emerald green, not the hazel green Dean bore proudly – flashed brightly as Jameson took a step forward closer to the Winchester, that damn robe not even bothering to hide most of his chest. Dean swallowed.

"Other Psychics can call upon their specialty using tools. I'm a more…_hands on_ kinda man." Jameson smirked. "Let me show you."

Before Dean could even think about contemplating what exactly the other man meant Jameson vanished; Dean's gun pulled from his hands.

"_Son of a-!"_ Dean snarled, yelling out when something pushed him down into a chair.

Christopher Jameson found himself really comfortable in Dean's lap seconds later.

"See _Dean_." Jameson breathed into Dean's ear, grinding down onto Dean's lap. Dean had to bite back a moan, immobilized hands clenching around the chair's arms. "My abilities are tied to more _sexual_ pursuits."

_Fuck._ Dean thought as his brain began to fog, staring into lust filled emerald eyes. _He's not wearing anything underneath that robe…_

"There's no chanting necessary, no séance, no physical tools. Just sexual intercourse of any kind and the energy two bodies writhing together can create."

Long fingered pale hands suddenly burrowed into Dean's jeans, and the Winchester hunter couldn't help but throw his head back with a groan. Fuck if the man didn't know what he was doing!

"I won't go _too_ far outside of your limits, don't worry." The hand stroking him gently pulled his cock free from his underwear and jeans, leaving Dean panting against the pleasure. "We'll leave that for next time."

Unable to think or really even breathe, caught in the pleasure radiating from his cock, Dean looked down and nearly felt his eyes roll back as Jameson slowly slithered down his legs, bowing his head as he pulled Dean's cock into his mouth.

And Dean found Heaven.

It didn't register when his hands were freed from the spell, when he buried his fingers into thick silky hair, head thrown back.

All he could think about was those lips around him – the man didn't even have to pause, deep throating Dean's sizable cock easily – and that _tongue_.

Jameson had him whimpering in barely a minute, on the cusp and aching for it when the brunet pulled off, settling back on Dean's lap with a hand gently stroking the red organ while he pressed his lips to Dean's own.

Dean put one hand to his cock, stroking himself along with Jameson while the other latched onto the back of the man's head, holding him still while kissing him furiously.

Jameson leaned into the kiss willingly, forcefully; free hand gently stroking Dean's cock right at the slit in the head, and Dean came with a low groan into Jameson's hands.

Panting for breath and brain absolutely blank, Dean watched with dazed eyes as Jameson climbed off of his lap, backing a few steps. Those long milky fingers were covered with Dean's cum, and as Dean watched James brought his hands up, ritualistically waving his hands by each other, palm facing palm.

And between them Dean saw a light flash.

"Actual sex would make a stronger vision." Jameson said gesturing while Dean rode the aftershocks of his orgasm. The semen began to glow, floating away from Jameson's hands to form symbols in the air, slowly rotating Jameson's hands. "You wanted my help. Here it is." Jameson stood tall, both palms facing Dean as the semen flashed all at once, those hands glowing.

"Look into my hands, Dean Winchester." Hazel green eyes caught the sight of a creature mid leap. "See what you do next."

* * *

Christopher Jameson crossed his arms as he lent against a large window, watching Dean Winchester slip into his car.

"To think." The man whispered softly, green eyes glowing as the pupils slitted. "He's the one who will start it all."

Slowly, the silhouette of two massive wings unfurled against the wall as Jameson lifted one cum covered finger to his mouth, golden eyes gleaming in the darkness.

"I'm going to enjoy this."

* * *

Christopher Jameson's introduction! Next up, just exactly what this psychic can do, and just how far Dean can push a man's buttons.

Also, make sure to ask questions if you don't get something. If it's a good question I'll make sure it's answered in part two.


End file.
